


The Rat's Golden God

by muzzleofbees



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Hand Job, High School, M/M, Pre series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzzleofbees/pseuds/muzzleofbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Dennis and Mac have gay sex, they’re seventeen and it’s terrible.   Dennis is so drunk he doesn’t even seem to be aware that he’s with Mac--sometimes he says Maureen--which is not close enough to Mac to go unnoticed. Mac is drunk, too. Almost drunk enough to get whiskey dick, but the fact that he is with Dennis Reynolds keeps him hard and leaking wet.</p>
<p>At least Dennis isn’t calling him Rat. Dennis never does. Hasn’t in, like, a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rat's Golden God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thischarmingmutant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thischarmingmutant/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a Yuletide 2013 gift. I didn't get it posted in time because I suck. Sorry about that, hope I didn't ruin anybody's Christmas.

The first time Dennis and Mac have gay sex, they’re seventeen and it’s terrible.   Dennis is so drunk he doesn’t even seem to be aware that he’s with Mac--sometimes he says _Maureen_ \--which is not close enough to _Mac_ to go unnoticed. Mac is drunk, too. Almost drunk enough to get whiskey dick, but the fact that he is with Dennis Reynolds keeps him hard and leaking wet.

 

At least Dennis isn’t calling him Rat. Dennis never does. Hasn’t in, like, a year.

 

Dennis is distracted but diligent. He isn’t rubbing so much as mashing Mac through his boxers. With actual intent, if Mac isn’t mistaken, and he doesn’t think he’s mistaken because Dennis’s fingers keep moving, sometimes gripping him, sometimes stroking him. Maybe he’s calling Mac Maureen but Mac is pretty sure this isn’t how you touch a pussy. Pretty sure. If he had more presence of mind, he’d ask. Dennis is the only person Mac knows who has ever even been close to a pussy.  

 

He sinks lower in the seat, trying to keep his breathing under control,  wondering if he’ll stop or if he’ll pull Mac’s dick out. Dennis isn’t even looking at him, his other hand wrapped tight around a bottle of Jack Daniels, his eyes closed.  Every few seconds he brings the bottle to his lips and swigs deeply and he’s going to be to the bottom soon. When he gets to the end will he stop? Without the burn of booze down his throat, will he realize what he’s actually doing?

 

Dennis doesn’t usually drink this much, and a part of Mac is concerned. He’s already told Dennis all of the tips and facts he knows to maintain a healthy life--he won’t let Dennis eat apple skins anymore--but he’s helpless to stop Dennis on a binge.  He’s more into weed than whiskey, and any type of pill Mac can get his hands on. But Mac’s guy hasn’t been in touch, and Mac is dry. He feels like a personal failure. When he admitted to Dennis he wasn’t holding anything, he expected a few harsh words. He didn’t expect Dennis to come by anyway, an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels in the seat beside him. Unlike the rest of the jerks at school, Dennis didn’t feel any embarrassment about driving his little BMW right up to Mac’s front door. He didn’t care who saw him.

 

When Mac settled in the front seat, he noticed an empty fifth of vodka in the backseat and two unopened bottles of Jack. Dennis cracked the first one open without a word, taking a deep swallow then passing it over to Mac, who would never, ever refuse an open bottle.  The alcohol hit his empty stomach and then rocketed to his head, which already felt as full as a balloon tied to a string, floating high above his body. He had a few hits in his own personal stash, and he would have shared if Dennis asked, but Dennis didn’t seem worried about the weed. He just kept drinking and babbling about Maureen Ponderosa, and it was confusing, but Mac figured it was stupid shit that didn’t really matter anyway.

 

He didn’t start paying attention until Dennis grabbed his dick.

 

Now he’s lost in that sensation, and oh god, he wants more. He wants to feel the direct heat and the pressure of skin touching skin. It’s probably a sin. No, it’s definitely a sin. It’s definitely a sin and he’s a sinner if he let’s Dennis continue, but he can’t very well ask him to stop. He keeps his fists clenched at his side, but he wants to touch Dennis. He has a great body. He’s trim and he’s cut and Mac has never seen him fight, but he’s sure that Dennis is like, the second strongest person he knows. Dennis never wants to wrestle him, so he can’t say for sure how strong his friend is. Maybe they could start wrestling now?

 

Dennis tugs at Mac’s underwear just as he thinks about pinning Dennis to the ground, pressing their bodies together and holding him down, and it’s almost too much. Mac jerks his hips, and Dennis suddenly stops and it’s all he can do to keep from whimpering. He holds himself perfectly still, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe, and then his hot, soft fingers wrap around Mac’s shaft, squeezing hard.

 

_Oh fuck, fuck, fuck._ He unconsciously bites the back of his hand and he tries to hold it back but he can’t. He shoots hard and Dennis finally looks at him, smirks, wipes his fingers clean on Mac’s not-very-white tighty-whities. Mac averts his eyes first, doesn’t know what it means so he blurts the first thing that comes to his head.

 

“Does this mean we’re boyfriends now?”

 

Dennis laughs. “Boyfriends?” He finishes what’s left in the bottle. “No. No we’re not boyfriends. That, Mac, that-will never happen.”

 

Mac swallows down the pieces of his heart clogging his throat and tucks himself back into his sticky pants.

 

“ _Capiche_?”

 

“Yeah, I capiche.”  Mac risks a glance up, just in time to see Dennis’s eyes soften. For a moment, he thinks Dennis might take it back. His hope only grows as Dennis opens his mouth.

 

And spews all over him. It’s not a small stream, either. The projectile vomit hits Mac directly in the face, gets in his mouth a little, and drenches his shirt. He  could handle the hot half-digested chunks of pizza, but the smell of regurgitated whiskey socks him right in the gut. He  spews his own chunks of pizza all over the dash, body convulsing until there’s nothing left but a hollow place in his gut and the burn of bile in the back of his throat. That sets off Dennis again but there’s nothing left in his stomach except that fifth of vodka and somehow it smells even worse.

 

“Fuck I gotta get out of here,” Mac chokes out, fumbling with the door until his slick fingers finally get a hold of the handle. His body heaves and he gags on nothing, choking and sputtering while Dennis swears at him, like all of it is his fault. He hadn’t asked for any of this and he spills out of the car, crawling across his lawn to collapse next to the dilapidated porch. It’s not the first time he’s collapsed face down on his own front porch, and he’s finds comfort in the familiar splinters and chips of paint digging into his skin.  He heaves a few more times, but he left everything behind in Dennis’s car.

 

When Mac wakes up the next morning, puke has crusted to his face and his underwear is stiff. The car hasn’t moved.  Dennis is passed out with his face in a puddle of his own vomit. When he wakes up, he’s got much bigger problems than drunken handies, and he forgets all about the night before the puke fest. Mac doesn’t forget, but the memory is forever tied to that fucking smell and it makes him gag without fail. Doesn’t stop him from thinking about it sometimes when he’s lonely and he feels the weight of sin on his chest and the ghost of Dennis’s hand on his dick.

  
  
  



End file.
